


Admiration

by storygatherer (zetsubou69)



Category: Jrock, the GazettE
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 03:50:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17911466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubou69/pseuds/storygatherer
Summary: Yeah, of course, he’s dead, but who fucking cares?





	Admiration

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted: 2011-08-14

Yeah, of course, he’s dead, but who fucking cares? Schoolgirls still drool over their idols… and this is different.  
Ruki takes his time. When his bandmates are not watching, he studies. He studies his face, his gestures – there are many and more of recordings, though even this sometimes feels like not enough. And where truth can’t be found, imaginary takes its place. Hide isn‘t… wasn’t exactly tall or muscular; still, Ruki would be the smaller one. He knows well.  
That’s why he likes to imagine, how could hide look nowadays, still young and handsome standing in front of him, so close one could touch him, one could hug him, so close on could kiss him. When Ruki’s alone, he’s no better than any other person.  
They don’t have enough spare time even for their families; they don’t even have enough free time to get girlfriends, to make it something serious. Every morning he makes coffee, says his ‘good morning‘ to sun or Koron, and inside of his head, there’s a reply, reply ad laughter of a man, whom he had seen only through someone else’s eyes, so far. And that’s not going to change, because what kind of relationship you can have with ashes dissolved in the ocean?  
Ruki has begun playing the guitar, but he told no one. He told no one, that except for a few chords he had to know he fought hard to learn more. Because of himself. No. He doesn’t show it off. This is just his. All the melodies he gets out of the devil’s instrument (beginnings were hard and even more painful) are just his. Nobody has to know, how does he spend his nights off, why is he devoted more to work and dreams (both shared and unshared) than to other things.  
He knows that to live with his ghost made of dreams and illusions is much easier than they would like to see.  
Ruki’s careful not to give them hint that he cares. And clothes from fifteen years ago were terrible, despite his quite unusual taste in clothes and accessories.  
Some evenings, as he watches Uruha and Aoi leave together, he says to the rest he has some work to finish, not to worry about him, and politely kicks them out of the studio. As they’re all gone, he gets his guitar, pours two glasses of absinthe, and smiles.  
“Cheers, hide.”  
The reply never comes, but that doesn’t matter.  
At home, he’s under the cold blanket alone. But these melodies hide whispers to him day after day, these words… this is never to disappear.


End file.
